


Eventide

by Sectumsempra



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-15 15:23:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8061619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sectumsempra/pseuds/Sectumsempra
Summary: "Bored. Just thinking. About things. Things I've never tried before.""Like dying?"MorMor drabble.





	

"Sebastian... what would you do if I died?" Jim drawls this from the passenger seat, and Sebastian takes his eyes off of the road a tad too long to look at him.  
"Party," he says then. "In the big London apartment. Though you'd have to let me know a few days in advance. Can't expect people to clear their schedules on short notice, you know?"  
"With whom?"  
"What?"  
"With whom would you party. You do not have any friends." Sebastian frowns.  
"I have... aquaintances." Jim throws him a sideways glance. The road is long and straight and empty, the fields that stretches out endlessly on both sides a washed-out grey; dusk takes the colour out of everything. "Why the fuck do you ask, anyway? Planning something stupid again?"  
"Bored. Just thinking. About things." Sebastian's grip on the steering wheel tightens. He tries hard not to let his breathing change, but knows it does, knows Jim notices because he never fucking _misses_ these things. Jim is very still, hands unmoving in his lap, face expressionless as he speaks. Monotonous in a way that brings to Sebastian's mind the image of a flatline on a monitor. It's as though the man in the passenger seat has crawled deeply into himself while his body sits there without him. "Things I've never tried before."  
"Like _dying_?"  
"I've been known to say I'll try everything once..."  
"Jesus fucking Christ, Jim." They meet the first car in ages. It's a dark Ford, might be red or green or blue, he can't quite tell.  
"You could use social media to get people," says Jim. His eyes fixed on the road ahead but unseeing. His voice distant, as if he isn't listening to himself speak, having more interesting inner monologues while letting some primitive part of his brain conduct the conversation.  
"What?"  
"For the party. In the London apartment."  
"Fuck it. I don't need people. I'll have myself a bottle of Vodka and play some Judas Priest on that sound system of yours that has only ever heard Bach before, and wreck the goddamn place just fine on my own. I'd love to tear down those ridiculous curtains. Looks like something you stole from the cinema."  
"If that's what you are dreaming about, you could just ask... You know how weak I am for a boy who asks nicely..."  
"Whatever. You don't give a shit about what I'd do if you died."  
"No. Just curious."  
"Curiosity killed the goddamn cat, Jim. How about you make yourself useful for once and figure out where we should stop for supper. We'll be in town in ten."  
In the following silence Jim takes a deep breath, the stillness running off of him; he's suddenly present again, _sees_ Sebastian for the first time in miles. Puts his hand on top of Sebastian's where it rests on the gear lever, tracing his fingertips, featherlight, up Sebastian's arm. His tenderness, as ever, is sinister and strange.  
" _You'd never forget me_." Jim's voice now so smooth and warm it's practically dripping. Sounds the way those bloody curtains feel to the touch. Jim isn't looking at him, not waiting for an answer, not needing one, and then Sebastian sees the first signs of civilisation, finally, finally, silently waits for the empty spaces to disappear behind them and the suburb to embrace them. He itches, suddenly, for a trigger and a bottle of whiskey, itches to kiss Jim till he's bleeding.  
”Nah. You know what they say, boss.” They drive past a pizza place, and he's so fucking hungry, but whatever Jim decides he wants for supper, it won't be that. Not to save his life.  
”What do they say, dear?” He pushes the gas pedal all the way down, goes much too fast, almost hopes for road police, for them to get pulled over, hopes for someone whose day he could make a really fucking bad one.  
”Out of sight, out of mind.”


End file.
